


Risque

by kubotits



Category: Bleach
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Hand & Finger Kink, Oral Sex, Sloppy Makeouts, Sneaking Around
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-11
Updated: 2013-05-11
Packaged: 2017-12-11 12:44:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/798871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kubotits/pseuds/kubotits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isshin and Masaki are no strangers to risk. (Spoilers for Everything But the Rain miniarc.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Risque

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mikaoru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikaoru/gifts).



> Happy birthday, Mika! I wrote you Masshin (▰˘◡˘▰)

The long, pleated skirt of Masaki's favorite dress fans out over her legs, extending like wings across the bed spread. It stops just below the knees, made of a smooth fabric she doesn't care to place. Sleeveless, the bodice is simple and flattering with—currently undone—buttons down the middle to the waistline, which is accented with a thin belt. It's Masaki's favorite dress for two reasons: the first being that when it moves, the grass-green skirt sways with the look of tall grass; the second that it is also Isshin's favorite dress.

It's Isshin's favorite for two reasons as well: the color matches the half-sleeved cardigan she had given him, and how the material feels against his skin—particularly now, as it falls against the side of his face, slips over the tip of his nose with his head under her skirt.

How he had come to be there had been a somewhat improvised and completely hare-brained excuse of a plan that involved not only relying perhaps a little too heavily on Ryuuken distracting Katagiri (possibly unwise, considering how strained their relationship had become) but sneaking past his notoriously perceptive and suspicious mother. Since “the incident” she had become extra wary of Masaki, like she expected her to become a monster at any given moment. It'd been several months since, but it was still under wraps exactly what happened when she collapsed—and they intended to keep it that way. The less she knew, the better, and Isshin would rather she not know of him or his involvement, even if it meant the inconvenience of hiding.

There were definite perks to a situation where Masaki's aunt didn't know about him, one of them being Masaki's large bed and even as a former authoritative figure himself, he sure enjoyed opposing authority. Sneaking around without detection had always been a strength of his—climbing houses and scrambling through windows was, however, not. Grumbling about how much easier this would be if he still had his shinigami powers, he would have preferred _not_ to be scaling a fucking _fortress_ in broad daylight. It's risky, but Isshin and Masaki are no strangers to risk. Besides, his motivation was leaning out the window, pretty as a picture in the spring sunlight. Although painfully cliché, she had even put down for him a makeshift rope made from sheets knotted together in a chain.

“There has got to be an easier way,” he muttered the umpteenth time his foot had slipped and his stomach dropped to his knees as a result.

“You could get your own place instead of freeloading at Urahara's,” taunted Masaki, idling admiring the ripple of his biceps as they gripped the “rope,” the little square of the cigarette pack tucked in his sleeve, how is hair had sagged a bit in the sun. She licked her lips. Did this count as foreplay?

“Oh come on, you know the clinic's a work-in-progress,” he grunted defensively.

Masaki conceded, “I know, I know, I was just teasing.” Looking out over the grounds to see if the coast was still clear, she added in a conspiratorial stage-whisper, “Now hush before a gardener hears you.”

“You have _gardeners_?” he hissed, aghast and quickening his pace.

“Oh, that lit a fire under you,” she chuckled.

“Yeah, 'cause it's _my_ ass that's gonna get cooked if we're caught.” He meant to sound mad, but the giveaway was the idiot's smile growing wider the closer he got to her. Once he was within kissing distance though, of course, he found it a good time to take a break, and rest his lips against Masaki's.

She shook her head in mock disbelief. “Are you sure _I'm_ the teenager in this relationship?”

The charmer shrugged noncommittally with a goofy grin on his face before attempting to scramble through the window. He had just almost gotten his leg up onto the sill when—

_Knock, knock._

Masaki swore under her breath, panicking and pushing Isshin's head down behind the window frame. A cry of indignation escaped him before he informed her, “I'm gonna die,” in what he thought was an impressively calm voice.

“You're not going to die,” she reassured him softly, heading for the door.

Masaki put her hand on the doorknob, took a deep breath, made sure to position herself between the doorway and Isshin's exposed fingers, and opened the door.

“Good afternoon, Masaki-sama,” greeted Katagiri brightly, though she seemed wary of the look in Masaki's eyes, which had just begun twitching. She held aloft a tray with a charming though unwanted array of tea and biscuits.

“G-good afternoon,” ground out Masaki through grit teeth and a strained smile.

“Young Master sent up some tea.”

“Ryuu-chan did?” she asked, bewildered, after she had _warned_ him about Isshin...

“Yes.” Katagiri frowned, genuinely concerned. “Is something wrong? Are you feeling ill?”

“Oh!” Masaki waved her arms dismissively, though maybe a bit too emphatically. “Oh no, I'm fine, nothing to worry about, anyway. I'm going to...to...take a nap, so. Please make sure no one disturbs me...I guess?”

“S-sure,” the servant agreed meekly, trying to step passed her young charge, but she blocked her.

“I'll take that, thank you!” she said a little too loudly, snatching the tray from Katagiri's grip.

“Okay, if you need anything else, please send for me,” she offered, bowing before slowly backing away.

“Will do!” Masaki closed the door with a bump of her shoulder. After setting down the tray (and locking the door), she ran to Isshin's aid. She called, “Sorry, I have no idea what's going on with Ryuu-chan”—Isshin had an inkling, but he didn't comment—“are you okay?”

Despite his aching fingers and arms, Isshin chuckled and beamed up at her. “It's cute how terrible you are at lying.”

“I can push you off,” she reminded him, fighting a smile because she knew he was right.

“Ah, but you're lying. You know how I know?” he teased, crawling up and over the ledge. Once he was standing at his full height before her, he leaned down and stage-whispered, “Because you're such a terrible liar.”

Masaki smirked, making herself busy by pulling up the rope. “Oh, and you're so good at it?”

Her boyfriend only shrugged, to which Masaki responded with a series of mocking faces; he replied with a facial expression of his own, one that indicated something along the lines of a sarcastic “Ouch.”

Masaki put a hand to her chin, sizing Isshin up. “Hmm, that back there was way too close, and even though you're not a shinigami anymore someone could still sense you if they tried.”

“So...?” he prompted.

“So, I've been working on this technique. Sit down.”

Obediently, he sunk to a seat on her bed. She put her hands on his shoulders, steadied herself, and closed her eyes. Isshin shifted forward a bit.

Eyes still closed, Masaki smiled knowingly. “Don't.”

“Don't what?” asked Isshin, feigning innocence like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

She opened an eye, still grinning. “Kiss me. I'm trying to focus on your reiraku.”

Although not quite sure what she was scheming, he watched closely as her eyes closed again, a wrinkle formed between her eyebrows, and her grin turned to pursed lips. Suddenly, she snatched out right in front of his nose, causing his eyes to cross. Although he still couldn't see it with his unremarkable human sight, he did see her open her eyes to see that, yes, she had got a hold of it.

There it was: a little column of coiled fabric, untangling into vision before her, frayed at the ends with slight kinks and creases. Beside it was Masaki's: crisp and smooth, but the edges, though not frayed like Isshin's, seemed to be damaged—charred. Tilting her head curiously, she wondered if that was the result of her Hollowfication, but didn't mention it aloud.

Isshin's mouth dried, eyes trained on Masaki's only seemingly empty fist. “What color is it?”

“It's white,” she admitted. She gave him an apologetic smile when her unoccupied hand, still resting at his shoulder, felt his subtle slump in reaction.

“I thought it'd be...I don't know, at least a little pink? Like there was some of it left in me?” His shoulders shook with forced laughter. “It's stupid.”

She leaned in and shook her head because _he_ was stupid but, “Hope is never stupid.” It was only a soft murmur, spoken over the shell of his ear with an added kiss against his skin, but it left a grin he couldn't fight on his lips. He gave her hand at his shoulder a quick peck.

Quirking her mouth, she asked in a timid voice much too small for her, “Do you regret it?”

She didn't specify, but he knew what she was asking: giving up everything he knew for her. Despite how many times he fed her the lie about the “blunder” that took his powers, she never believed him. She always knew, and he had known that as well.

“I don't regret _you_ ,” he answered steadily, placing his hand over hers.

The softness in her eyes melted slowly, but she was back to business soon enough. Masaki cleared her throat before she playfully chastised, “Now shh, I need to concentrate.” She added uncertainly, “I've never actually done this before.”

“You're going to mask mine with yours, right? Piece of cake.”

“Oh, you've wrapped your reiraku around someone else's to make it seem like one, have you, Mr. Big Shot Shinigami?”

“Well. Piece of cake in _theory_ ,” he revised.

“Very reassuring,” she snarked, a twinkle in her eyes. Then she gave his hand a final squeeze before taking hold of her own reiraku and lowering her lids over her eyes once again.

All Isshin could see was her hands put together to form a steeple, like she was praying, then moving out and down over the apparent ribbons as if performing a dance. He felt a shudder through his body—and saw her shake with a shiver too—as their reiraku intertwined. That stirring, that minute proof that there was some reiryoku left inside him, just as all humans have, only fed to the hope he might regain his powers someday. He knew so long as their souls were connected he wouldn't but he'd promised to protect Masaki, and it was easier said than done when he was flying blind with nothing but fists for weapons. Luckily, she could take care of herself, but still it made him feel useless. He was adjusting, he was—

He could feel her. Her reiryoku through their interacting reiraku, and that raw power of hers hit him in a wave. Yeah, she could _more_ than take care of herself. It enveloped him, wrapped around his battered and depleted reiryoku. A power like that could have been overwhelming, but it had a gentleness to it that embraced him, as he let the comfortable warmth it generated fill him to the brim.

Masaki opened her eyes, letting her fingers go slack. “Done!” she informed him, brightening. “Now only my reiryoku and reiraku will be sensed and seen.”

“So...” Isshin slyly cocked his head to the side, pulling her to him gently by her dress. She obligingly stepped between his parted legs. “I can start kissing you now?”

“What, you don't want tea?” she offered pseudo-innocently.

Isshin smirked. “I didn't climb all that way for tea,” he toyed, enthusiastically waggling his eyebrows for effect.

Exasperated, Masaki sighed, “Do you have to do that thing with your eyebrows _every_ time we make out?”

“Yes,” he answered without hesitation.

Masaki rolled her eyes, muttering, “You're hopeless,” before pulling him into a kiss.

“Aw, you love me,” he teased.

“Don't remind me,” she whispered, but she left her hands planted firmly on his collar, keeping him as close as possible before wrapping her arms around his neck and pushing him back onto her bed. There was a slight bounce when his back hit the mattress, and it only brought out giggles from his girlfriend.

Lying back, Isshin found a new home for his hands on her hips, thumbs comfortably curling in the belt loops of her dress. It'd been a while since they were able to be this alone, this close—too long, in Isshin's opinion. This was where he belonged, in her arms, kissing her lips—among other parts of her.

He was completely at her mercy, as she moved her fingers through his hair, captured his lower lip between her teeth. Slowly, lazily, they continued to kiss, tongues running over lips and teeth. Isshin pulled her closer by her belt loops, shifting further onto the bed. She followed, moving her knee between his thighs where she could feel him half-hard against her leg. Masaki's stomach and heart went in different directions, mouth falling open against Isshin's. Her eyes opened to look into his before the whisper-gap was closed between them, then— _oh_ , it wasn't half anymore. Somewhat triumphantly, Masaki pulled back with a mischievous grin. Maybe he was rubbing off on her? No, no, that wasn't it because _she_ was rubbing _against_ him.

She let out a small chuckle as he mumbled some sort of profanity coupled with her name into her skin. Her hands were steadied by gripping his sleeves, and cigarettes were getting crushed because of it. He was well aware, but he couldn't care less because _fuck_ , her thigh against his strained jeans was more than enough to make him not care about anything that wasn't Masaki and that smug smirk on her face.

There was something heady and addictive about making Isshin come, something Masaki relished. He would shut his eyes tight and grit his teeth, accompanied with some sort of hiss or groan or breathy release and it was that kind of sound that would send her stomach plummeting. As tempting as letting her unbutton his jeans was, Isshin had to silently protest, _My turn_ , and roll her over. He wanted to do something for _her_.

She only laughed good-naturedly, bending up at the knee to continue her task at another angle. Shaking his head slightly—she was _missing_ the _point_ —Isshin crushed his mouth over hers, relinquishing her hips and roaming her body. When he felt her breath hitch beneath him, he knew he had gained the advantage.

Masaki felt like someone was flicking the on/off switch on her lungs once he started fumbling with buttons. He barely made it all the way down before his hand shifted beneath the parted dress over the smoothness of her matching-green bra. Isshin grinned against her lips as her breath became more labored under his hand, surprised at his own competitiveness. Masaki seemed to have lost all fight, only idly moving her leg against him, so distracted by his mouth and hands—which had now started wandering further down her body.

While pulling up her dress, Isshin leaned down to lick her neck as she tried her best to muffle the gasp of his name with his shoulder. She was wet, he could feel through her panties, and her legs parted eagerly for him. Happily, she hummed into his kisses, moving against his fingers for more. But he had other plans, kissing his way down, down, down...

And that was when he ducked beneath her skirt.

The first thing Isshin notices is the soaked-through dark spot on her panties, the second that that they match her bra. He licks his lips in anticipation, and Masaki already has her fingers in her mouth, biting down to keep any sounds at bay. But when Isshin's lips connect, it doesn't matter. Despite the cloth between them, the outline of his lips against so intimate a place—Masaki's voice grows higher into something of a squeal, thighs tensing. It's not an unexplored area of her body, but it's the first time his _mouth's_ been there and it's just new enough to make her a little nervous—but that doesn't stop her from arching her back for more. His tongue merely slides over her panties and she soaks through all the more.

She wants them _off_. She wants to feel him against her, wet, hot skin to skin. For a moment she even thinks she might beg for it before his hands slide beneath her ass and _squeeze—_ her hands clench and unclench, moving up until they're in her hair—and he hooks his fingers beneath the edges of her underwear. Now Isshin finds it funny to take his good sweet time, leaving a wet kiss on her thigh and propping her knee over his shoulder.

Isshin pulls away the garment so slowly and with such a proud look on his face, she knows he's teasing her. It goes up, up, making sure his knuckles drag over the soft skin of her legs, until her toes are pointing up into the air. He parts her legs just as slow. If this is Isshin's idea of payback, she could _definitely_ get used to it. He doesn't even try to embarrass her by staring, since she's never been modest about her body. It doesn't take him long to give in anyway—he wants to taste her.

Tongue meets clitoris first, firming and softening against the bundle of nerves. Masaki throws her head back into the mattress, turning and muffling herself into the comforter. Whether it tastes good or bad doesn't register to Isshin, just that it's _Masaki_ and it's intoxicating as he brings his tongue down and over her sex.

His hands, so much bigger than her own fisted in the blanket, keep her legs spread in front of him. They glide along her thighs, under them; but it is his lips, and his tongue, and his _breath_ on her that makes her come undone. She feels herself unraveling beneath his touch, like her energy being sapped from her with a new one rushing through. Heat builds where he kisses, half-convincing her that he'll leave scorch marks when he's through. And when his tongue goes _inside_ , she can't help but hook her ankles behind his head to keep him there. Soft, swallowed moans bubble up and clash with unbridled cries as Masaki tries to quash them down to no avail.

Isshin pauses, and she can hear his cheeky, cheeky smile when he comments, “If you keep making sounds like that, all that sneaking around isn't gonna matter.”

“Shh, sh, I'll stay qui— _ah_!” His fingers join in his mouth's work. “ _Isshin_ ,” she groans, and he can't tell if she's scolding or pleading. She moves a hand from the sheets to under the dress, searching blindly for his face. She strokes his cheek, then the top of his head, fingers weaving into hair and holding him to her, bringing out a low groan of his own.

“Move the dress,” she breathes out. “I want to see you. I want to see your face.”

The skirt to Masaki's waist, she can see his eyes so dark and piercing when they look up at her—if her whole body wasn't blushing already, it is now. When he closes his eyes again, his eyelashes make shadows over his cheeks. She bites the inside of her cheek in an attempt to stifle her reactions, but then he begins _suckling_ —she starts and stops his name half a dozen times before it finally comes out in a small whimper.

She's close enough that when he pulls away for but a moment, an involuntary whine escapes her, protesting the receding heat. Her grip on him strengthens. Isshin only grins, brings his hand up to hers. “I wanna try something,” he murmurs, his voice deep and gravelly.

Before she can say anything at all, her fingers are in his mouth. She splutters his name, feeling his wet tongue weave between her fore- and middle finger. His other hand doesn't still at her sex, pushing in and out, languidly thumbing her clitoris. She could feel the vibration of Isshin's moan through his teeth. When Isshin bites, ever so slightly, her head lolls and she pushes herself around his finger. If he was good at anything, it was multitasking. She doesn't know where to focus, just that his eyes have captured hers, with sensation filling her from her toes to her burning cheeks.

He guides her fingers back to herself, still warm against her clitoris. Masaki begins rubbing automatically without thinking, crying out once Isshin joins in again. She becomes even slicker against his mouth, and he knows she's close when her fingers quicken. Her toes scrunch, her back arcs, and it's all she can do not to shout, shoving her unoccupied hand over her open mouth. She tightens around his tongue, the orgasm building from the heat in her belly and spreading to the tips of her fingers and toes, as if light was shooting out from them.

Once it's over, Isshin looks so incredibly proud but she's too content and comfortable to make fun of him for it. She's barely caught her breath, with something across between a laugh and a pant, but then he takes her wet fingers and sucks, and for a moment she thinks she'll come again from just that when—

_Knock, knock—_ “Oh no”—the door knob rattles and Masaki thanks _God_ she remembered to lock it.

“Why is this door locked!?” comes a scandalized voice. _Shit._ It's her aunt.

Without any warning, Masaki digs her hands beneath Isshin and _flings_ him off the bed. He does not one, but two flips before landing with an undignified _oomfgh!_ on the blind side of her bed. Not exactly the result he was expecting from going down on his girlfriend.

“Ow,” he quietly announces.

“ _Sorrysorrysorry_ ,” whispers Masaki, frantically buttoning down her dress.

“Masaki-san, you will open this door at _once_.”

“One moment, Aunt!” she cries in response. Two of her buttons are aligned incorrectly as she stumbles to the door, her legs still weak. Her hair is a mess. Her underwear is still _on the floor_ , but it's too late to go back to retrieve them.

She opens the door, chest heaving. “Yes?” she greets, with a breathless voice of unconvincing innocence.

“What were you doing?” she demands suspiciously, looking her up and down in disapproval.

“Just...taking a nap,” answers Masaki shakily. “I wasn't feeling very well so...”

Her aunt looks past her, eyes falling on the discarded panties. Her eyes bug out, turning back to Masaki. “What are _those_ doing there?”

“What are what doing where?” she asks, turning as slowly as possible.

With Aunt Ishida distracted by Masaki, quick as lightning, Isshin's arm strikes out and pulls the panties behind the bed. When Masaki and her aunt finally look back to where they were, it's as if they disappeared.

“Wha—I could have sworn—” she begins, but doesn't let it get to her, clearing her throat, and scolding Masaki for something else. “You should be doing your Holy Training, not sleeping.”

“Yes, aunt,” she says submissively.

“Well”—she can't resist one last criticism—“be sure to put on something _decent_ first.”

She forces a smile. “I'll be just a moment.”

Her aunt stalks off haughtily as Masaki closes the door behind her. Once her footfalls fade away, Isshin takes the opportunity to groan in pain. His girlfriend whirls around, striding over to help him up.

“I'm _so_ sorry about that,” she apologizes earnestly.

Isshin pouts, but holds up her panties for her. She takes them, if not a bit sheepishly.

“I'll make it up to you?” she offers.

That seems to cheer him up. “Oh? And how will you be doing that?” coaxes Isshin, his eyebrows going up and down in a ridiculous manner.

She doesn't answer his question, but laughs, “We're going to have to have a talk about those eyebrows of yours.”

“After you 'make it up' to me, right?”

“Yes, after,” she promises, smiling her way into a kiss.

“I'm holding you to that.”

Masaki only hums into his lips; she's looking forward to it.


End file.
